Reprogramming
by ToothandFang
Summary: The Second War. A time of blood, betrayal, and brutality. Razorbeard creates the ultimate weapon for use against the Resistance. Does Rayman stand a chance against a close friend?...


**A/N:** The ONLY characters I own in this chapter are the henchmen. Yes, everyone else is CANON. Keep that in mind as you read, okay? There might be more OC's later on, but not in this chapter.

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"…_No!" Rayman shouted, horrified, staring at the charred remains of Globox. "It CAN'T end this way!" Admiral Razorbeard's lips curled in a triumphant smirk._

"_Face it!" he cackled, a sharp metallic sound. "As we speak, the Resistance is crumbling, the survivors are being herded away, and my men are slaughtering the ones too old or sick to move! You, you impetuous little worm, are finished. You _lose, _Rayman." Rayman could only watch in horror as Razorbeard aimed the point of the cannon towards him. As the admiral looked through the scope, he spoke the phrase that Rayman had dreaded hearing since he'd started this adventure:_

"_Game over."_

_Razorbeard squeezed the trigger…_

"Razorbeard!" A shrill, tinny shriek knocked Admiral Razorbeard out of his daydream (and almost off his chair, too). "My neck-bolts need tightening; get over here and DO them!" The admiral realized, with increasing anger, that Rayman had NOT been beaten, the Resistance had NOT been found and destroyed, and his wife had NOT been blown to pieces!

"For badness' sakes, woman!" he snarled, throwing up his hands in frustration. "I'm _busy_ working on plans for the new cannon!" Truth be told, he wasn't really drawing the blueprints as much as fantasizing about Rayman's eventual defeat, but there was no way in Heaven he was about to admit that little piece of information to his wife.

"You should've finished them _yesterday_, instead of going out for a pint of gasoline with your men! Maybe you would've conquered the world by now if you didn't slack off so much! AND BY THE WAY!" Razorbeard flinched at the edge in her voice. "WHY haven't you beaten Rayman yet? You never have time for ME anymore! I want to start making some kids with you!" The admiral had begun to tune the shrew out, constructing the framework of the cannon from the long pieces of metal littering the table, when her last sentence got through his head: _I want to start making some kids with you._

Razorbeard froze, the drill clicking off in his hand. Kids. Babies. Children of their own. For a moment, he was thoughtful. He imagined it: Little Razorbeards, running all over the ship, climbing everything and whooping as they shot small rayguns at Rayman-shaped targets, and perhaps a daughter he could spoil or two…

But he shuddered as he realized what he'd have to go through to _get_ babies. He could picture what his wife would screech at him as they struggled along: _No, no, you're doing it wrong! You fool, the head goes on the OTHER end! Why don't you just sit down over there and let ME do it?..._

If she'd asked him a few years ago, it would have been different. Yes, Razorbeard's wife was a nasty piece of work. The robotic admiral knew that he could always dismantle her and build himself a new one, but something stopped him. Maybe it was because he remembered when they had first met…when she had been the sweetest robot in the town she'd grown up in, and Razorbeard had been only a traveler, a boy with a head full of mischief and a sailing boat full of dreams. He remembered fondly how curious she'd been about him, how much she'd delighted in hearing his exciting tales of other worlds, and oh, how willingly she'd leapt out of her bedroom window and into his waiting arms as they sailed out of that town forever!

_But then she had to go and get herself shorted out! _he thought bitterly, his thoughts turning sour. _Stupid thing stood out in the rain without a fresh coat of ExRust!_...And after _that…_

"Razorbeard!" That awful metallic voice knocked the admiral out of his thoughts for the second time that day. "My NECK-BOLTS!"

"Coming, dear," Razorbeard sighed in defeat. He slowly stood up, setting the forgotten drill by the unfinished framework and grabbing a screwdriver. Dragging his feet, going as slowly as he possibly could, he walked to the side door—

—and heard a loud knock at the front one.

"Enter, if you dare!" the admiral shouted, grateful that he could stall the Missus a little longer.

"Captain Razorbeard," a deep, mechanical voice spoke as the door opened. Razorbeard was about to correct the one who spoke before he saw who had entered.

Two of his henchmen marched in, dragging something dirty and bloody between the two of them. The first one must've been a newer model, born instead of built, but the second henchman…this one was one of the first soldiers Razorbeard had ever made after Mrs. Razorbeard's little 'nervous breakdown.' That was when he still named them; now he just referred to them as You, Henchman, or Soldier, and let them name themselves.

"Captain Razorbeard," the second one spoke again, and this time the admiral recognized him as Redcoat, his uniform stained red with the blood of his enemies. "Please forgive us for the interruption-"

"-Never_mind_ the interruption, my good man!" Razorbeard cried impatiently, eager for a reason to get away from his wife's neck-bolts. "What is it?" Redcoat turned his head to the other soldier, who looked unsure of himself.

"My comrade found a Resistant hiding inside one of our strongholds." The soldier nodded uncertainly, and Razorbeard now saw that the dirty heap was breathing raggedly, and that there were many dents and oozing black cuts on the henchman's face. "We would like to know what you want done with her."

Razorbeard was silent. This girl…female Resistants weren't unheard of, but…they were usually _older-looking_ than this one. He could see that the Resistant was a fairy of some kind (there was a small pair of wings on her back), but she was about _half_ the size of a lot of the other ones he'd seen; a child!

For some reason, that disturbed him. Rayman had sent a _child_ into a camp full of robotic soldiers who could blast a Glute in half without blinking? Even he, Razorbeard, made sure that all of the younger henchmen received their training up here on the ship, out of the line of fire…

He didn't know _why_ that bothered him. It might've been the 'conscience' thing that a lot of the Resistants claimed to have; he wasn't really sure what it was or did…

_Note to self: Whatever it is, remember to have it removed, castrated, and butchered before it breeds,_ he thought, and moved closer to take a look at the girl's face.

She must've heard him coming closer, because she made a tremendous effort to hold her head up. The fairy only managed it for a second, but the admiral had to take a step back after seeing her expression.

Her lips were writhing in a terrifying snarl, her teeth stained black from the oil of his men, every inch of her face smeared with dirt, blood, and oil, like war paint. But that wasn't what made Admiral Razorbeard step back. No. It was her eyes.

There was an ocean reflected in them. A roiling and churning sea of fear, rage, and bloodlust, a more lethal combination than fire and gunpowder. They were glaring at the admiral, and seemed to scream,_ Take one more step, you bucket of bolts, and I'll make you wish you've never been built!_ She looked absolutely feral.

But after that split second, her head flopped down, and her stringy hair fell in front of her eyes.

"…Redcoat, you take her and lock her in an empty stockade near the bottom of this ship, and…you DID order the henchmen to search the rest of the battalions, didn't you?" Redcoat nodded slowly.

"Yes, sir, they're checking them over as we speak."

"Good, good. As I was saying, you are to lock her up _securely_ in a cell in Block D, wait until Skullbash comes to relieve you, and return to camp at once to lead the-"

"RAZORBEEEARD!" If the admiral had had a heart, it would've sank. He didn't turn around when he heard the side door of his workshop crashed open. "What's the flipping hold up?! Has it ESCAPED your attention that my nails are tacky? TIGHTEN THE (bleep)ING BOLTS!" Razorbeard felt a migraine stalking in the bushes in the corners of his mind, and closed his eyes.

"_Honey,_" he growled through clenched teeth. "I am _busy,_ deciding the _fate,_ of the _Resistant_ that was found in one of the henchmen's camps. THE BOLTS CAN WAIT."

"Well, hurry up!" The admiral could hear the distinct pout in her voice as she slammed the door shut. He could _also_ hear a quiet snicker coming from the first henchman.

His eyes flew open. "You! Boy!" he barked, pleased to see the soldier leap back. "What's your name, what do they call you?" He stared intensely, watching the henchman squirm under his gaze.

"Um…G-G-Gr-Greenhook M, Admi-Admiral Razorbeard," he stammered. He couldn't have been more than three years old, a teenager by Razorbeard's standards.

"Greenhook M…so, you're Switchhook's son, eh?" Greenhook M nodded vigorously.

"Y-yes, sir!"

"…He was a good man. I'm sorry to hear about the last Resistance attack on the camp," Razorbeard answered darkly. He meant what he'd said; Switchhook had been one of the finer robots he'd fought alongside during the First War. "Anyhow, I'm to understand that _you_ found this little spy in the stronghold?"

"Th…that's correct, Admiral Razorbeard," Greenhook M looked unsure of himself, as though he wasn't certain what Razorbeard's reaction would be.

"And I'm to understand that it was _you_ who _captured_ this resistant, Greenhook?"

"I…um…uh…" Greenhook M stuttered. He looked nervous now, like was about to panic and start shooting everything in sight. Razorbeard honestly hoped he didn't; it would be _such_ a waste to have to disassemble such a young soldier…

Fortunately, Redcoat came to his rescue. "My comrade almost did it alone. He had it under control, but I sprang a trap that Gizgasket made the day before. Just incase she had a bomb and was about to set it off, or something of the sort."

"Is that so…" murmured Razorbeard, his voice a quiet mechanical purr. Even if he didn't believe that Redcoat was telling the truth, the gashes and dents covering Greenhook M proved that he was. The admiral was impressed; if his suspicions were correct and the girl _was_ a child, she obviously had been trained well. But what impressed him was that Greenhook M had taken so much damage to the face and chest and was still standing.

"...well done, boy," Razorbeard smiled grimly, and even though his namesake covered half of his face, he was sure the henchman saw it. Greenhook M looked relieved, and seemed to relax. "Well done. Your father would be proud. Now go down to the infirmary and get some rest, soldier. You've earned it." Greenhook M, not having to be told twice, staggered out of the admiral's workshop and down the hall. "Unfortunately, Redcoat, I'd permit you to stay the night as well, but I'd like you to return to base to lead the search after Skullbash takes over your shift guarding the prisoner." The general nodded. He didn't seem disappointed.

"As you wish, Captain." Redcoat saluted before tightening his hold on the fairy and stalking out.

Razorbeard stood there for a minute, deep in thought processing. He wondered who would be the one to interrogate the girl, and whether they would go easier on her if she was really as young as she looked. _Perhaps I'll interrogate her myself,_ he mused, making his way back over to his worktable. It wasn't that he thought his men wouldn't be able to handle her; it was just that a few of the henchmen who regularly led the interrogations had a soft spot for women and weren't as _tough_ with the female Resistants as they should've been. Of course, if that was the case, he just didn't _ask_ them to interrogate the women, instead ordering Skullbash or Steelsprocket to do it.

_Maybe I shouldn't interrogate her just yet, though,_ Razorbeard rolled up the now finished blueprints and put them away in a filing cabinet. _I'll wait until she's calmed down a bit…_

_But what shall I do if she doesn't cooperate?_ As cruel and unfeeling as the admiral was, there was no way, come Heaven or high water, that he was about to use branding or the tearing-out of fingernails (what the crew considered 'Customary Measures' for unruly Resistants) on a child. But if he didn't use _something…_

…_no information,_ he thought darkly.

_Well…_a small voice in the back of his mind whispered…

_There's always…_Automatization…

Automatization. Now THERE was a thought. Razorbeard contemplated it, hiding the framework under a tarp. He tried not to use Automatization for a couple reasons:

1. It would deny his men the pleasure of the interrogation process, because the new automaton would have an override chip installed with one direct order from the admiral: _Obey me at all times._ He'd just have to _ask_ for the information instead of prying it from her trembling lips. And he knew how hard his henchmen worked; this was one of the few times they got to enjoy themselves.

2. The Automatization process involved the brain becoming a circuit board and the limbs being replaced with cold metal. Not only did it take longer than just branding them or ripping out their fingernails, but there was a fifty percent chance that the subject would die before he could finish the operation, and _that_ just made the whole thing a waste of both energy and victims.

He only used it as a last resort, and sometimes not even _that._

_But that's what it _is_, isn't it?_ The voice coaxed slyly. _A last resort! And the last time you checked, you don't _have _any other ideas, _do_ you?_

_But what if I kill her?_ He argued with himself. _I'll have lost the information that I was _trying_ to get in the first place!_

_But you_ won't, the voice was reassuring, but Razorbeard wasn't convinced._ You've gotten better at it over the years, and the only reason the last couple of Resistants died was because of blood loss! All you-_

"ARE YOU DONE YET?!" Once again, Razorbeard snapped out of the internal battle-of-wits he'd been fighting as he heard his wife scream.

"Yes, dear, coming!" he called back, sighing as he remembered how his wife had _used_ to called him: Sweetly and politely, with the unspoken promise of a smile when she saw him. He missed her so much…he gave another unhappy sigh as he walked to the door. _And to think of what I'm going to have to go through to get _children_ with this wom—_

—he stopped.

The seed of an idea had just been sowed in his mind, and, even as he stood there, had begun to take root. It sprang up from the soil, growing branches and bearing poisonous fruit, and finally grew to its full height as a tree of evil.

Razorbeard gasped. He'd hit the jackpot. He was sure of it. He knew _exactly_ what he would do to the girl, and he knew exactly _how_ he was going to do it. Information, a child of their own, a trap for Rayman—forget about two birds with one stone—he'd be taking out a whole _flock_ of them with a high-power laser cannon! _A laser cannon, _he noted, full of pride and sick delight for his ingenious plan, _that goes by the name of Automatization!_

Of course, there was the whole her-hating-his-gears thing to consider.

_But,_ he smiled evilly to himself as he went to open the door. _There's nothing that a few new circuits and a little _rewiring_ won't fix…_

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**A/N:**

Okay, you guys, that's the end of the first chapter. I'd like some constructive criticism, please; what did you like? What didn't you like? Was there anything that didn't make sense to you? Just leave a review to let me know, okay? Thanks!

**FanFicFunFact #1: **This story was written by yours truly when she noticed that the Rayman section of good ol' was rather lacking in the Razorbeard department. Razorbeard needs more love, people!


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